


Many Feelings

by SomePeopleAndI



Category: Original - Fandom
Genre: Much crying, Sibling bond, an actual thing that happened, and comfort, idk how to tag anything, idk how to tag this, if ur going through smth related hope this helps, it's okay to cry, many feelings, some language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 11:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8749738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomePeopleAndI/pseuds/SomePeopleAndI
Summary: Emo punk wanna be is wasting time when tiny brother child comes to her crying bc their parents are having a heated argument-names have been changed for privacy purposes





	

I was sat in my room, reading some shit fanfiction about a certain couple Avengers, in complete silence. Well the fic wasn’t _shit ___but I can say that it certainly wasn’t that great either – I felt the need to correct it. But was I ever going to ask? No, no I was not. Even though I would’ve liked to make the story better and more articulate – I swear it was written by some thirteen year-old, I was too shy and afraid to offend for even offering.  
The moment I heard a knock on my door, I locked my phone and pretended to be doing something at least somewhat productive. I mean c’mon, who wants their parents to know that their almost eighteen year-old kid spends most of their waking hours reading gay fanfiction on questionable websites? Yeah, I thought so.  
“Yeah, who is it?” I called, hoping to not sound antsy. An adrenaline rush was a pretty common thing when this happened, making my heart beat a little faster and my breathing somewhat off. At the last moment, I decided to stand up and walk over to the door to possibly seem less guilty.  
I had only gotten halfway there when they answered, “T.J.” in an uncharacteristically sad voice. And in that very moment, I could tell he was crying. I stopped in my tracks as the door swung open to reveal my ten year-old brother sniveling and looking at me with eyes full of tears and something I could only describe later as fear and a straggling hope that I could somehow make it better.  
A glance at his red, already tear-streaked face was all it took for me to realize that this wasn’t just some cosmetic problem that could be easily fixed with a simple explanation. Also the fact that he had come to me instead of our mom or dad had been a tale-tell sign. “What happened?” I questioned, worry apparent in my tone.  
I swear he sounded so scared and just heartbroken telling me, “Mama and Daddy are fighting,” I didn’t hesitate to open my arms wide, and it didn’t appear as though he hesitated either when he walked into my embrace, beginning to cry harder.  
I was speechless for longer than I would like to admit; I had no clue what to do or what to tell him that could magically make it better. It didn’t help that I was already indifferent to the whole situation. I’d known; even before my mom told me, I had my suspicions. I had my own opinions on it too – who should win and what should happen, I saw everything that was going on. All the harsh words disguised as jokes, the looks of disappointment and resignation, every heavy silence and change in atmosphere when my dad got home from work. And all of this was just what they let privy to the public; mama would tell me about arguments they had and, honestly, I took her side.  
My mom was always so much more logical about things and her opinions just seemed like common sense. I thought it would’ve been stupid to argue with her, and in turn that made me less optimistic about my father and his opinions. He had always been a bit… odd anyway so it wasn’t much of a leap for me. Not that he was particularly mean and he never physically abused any of us but his words had more often than not been too harsh or uncaring to ignore.  
A memory, just one for now, to back this thinking up is a scene – a feeling, I don’t like to remember. It happened often when I started puberty; all too often, but did eventually stop after a couple years. I was emotional – and getting more-so at this age, and my dad didn’t know how to handle it. The smallest action or comment, or thought even, would send me to tears. Now my dad, he’s a great dad, don’t get me wrong; but my dad had always been one to show his love in a way that my family liked to call _“picking” ___(it’s a bit like “making fun of” and physical annoyances).  
Well anyway, this is how he would try to convey to us that he loved and cared about us (pretty shitty way of showing it, I know). And as a kid, you tend to think your parents rule the world, walk on water, etc. no matter what they do, so of course I hadn’t realized up until this point that something was wrong. In my eyes, my dad wore a cape and flew around saving people with no fear. That is, until I realized he was only human and wasn’t fearless and certainly didn’t know how to raise a little girl who was starting puberty.  
Let me set the scene: imagine me, an eleven or twelve year-old girl with slightly crooked teeth and scattered emotions that I had absolutely no clue how to deal with – much less control, standing in the kitchen with her parents and her three tiny siblings, having a fine conversation. When all of a sudden someone says something completely innocent and not meaning to offend but I burst into tears. My dad immediately asks what’s wrong. I reply that I don’t know and continue to cry, trying to stop so I could stay and talk. He makes a joke about how I shouldn’t be so emotional and I make an effort to not let him see that it makes me cry harder. He walks over and I’m glad when he wraps me in a hug, but my small comfort doesn’t last long when he begins poking my sides and trying to tickle me.  
I didn’t know many swear words, and definitely wasn’t going to voice them; but if it had happened to me now, I would’ve said (more like thought, because I still don’t swear in front of my parents) “Fuck the _fuck off_.” as I snatched away. Someone attempting to make you feel better by tickling and physically irritating you is the worst feeling when all you want to do is cry it all out. So I tried to leave and go to my room. But he followed me, still poking my sides and making rude jokes despite me telling him to stop and go away and “just leave me alone”, progressively getting angrier at all his _picking ___.  
To this day, I cannot describe how all of that made me feel without getting mad and upset. I start crying every time I talk about it. It’s a feeling close to useless and not-cared-for and being all around helpless to do anything about it. He literally would not leave me alone, not letting me shut my door and forcing himself into my room to bother me more. By that point I would always swear that I hated him and that I hoped he’d get hurt or just leave the house; all in my head, but I meant every word at the time.  
Afterward, I had all this regret for wanting such terrible things to happen to my only father. I would always pray for God to forget that I said such things and promise that I really did love my dad and that he just got on my nerves sometimes. (We were supposed to be Christian but looking back, I don’t think that was a very God-like thing for him to do) In short: I felt like shit during and after those moments.  
All of that had made me side with my mom and I didn’t much care if they got a divorce but I often forgot that I had young siblings and that they wouldn’t take it as easy as I. So figuring out what to tell my little brother as he cried into my shirt, his arms like a vice around my waist, was tough to say the least.  
I eventually settled on shutting the door that had been left open, cursing the fact that it still didn’t close all the way after it broke and my dad had to take it apart and we didn’t have the pieces to fix it. It was an awkward sort of shuffle we had to do so I could reach it without letting T.J. go, but we managed.  
My brain had more or less kicked back into gear after that, so I was able to at least begin to form a sentence or speech or something that might help him feel better. As we stood in my room, I rubbed his back in what I hoped would be a comforting way while trying to think of something to say that wasn’t a bunch of empty promises while also not revealing to him how bad the situation actually was.  
“How about we go sit down?” I offered after a while of letting him get most of it out. I didn’t want to start explaining or even talking about this near the door where our parents or younger siblings might, on the off chance, hear.  
He nodded so I moved my office chair and sat under my loft bed between my desk and vanity, it was almost like a cubby hole and the closest I could get to us having some privacy. I sat in the farthest corner and motioned for him to sit across from me. He did but he was still crying pretty heavily so I told him to “c’mere” and made grabby motions with my hands until he was sitting in my lap. Having him curled up on my crossed legs with his head resting on my shoulder as I pet him and he cried, made me remember just how small he still was; he was only ten, and gosh he was emotional, it made me try to recall how I felt when I was his age. All I could muster was a feeling that I felt I was more mature at the time but looking back I was just a kid, so young and naïve.  
_You’re just like me ___, I thought, playing with his hair. And he was. He was just as I imagined myself from a third party view at that age. I held him a bit tighter and ignored the uncomfortable arch of my spine as I let him finish sniffling.  
“Hey,” I finally said, he didn’t really move but I knew he was listening, so I continued, “You don’t have to cry. Like, you can if you want to but you don’t have to,” I mended; no way was I going to make him feel bad for showing emotion. “People fight all the time, they argue, it happens. I mean we fight, yeah? But I still love you and you still love me right?” He nodded; I took it as a good sign. “And like, mama and daddy, they both have very strong opinions that don’t always match and no two people are ever going to get on well all the time. But that doesn’t mean they hate each other,”  
I said a bunch of other stuff that I prayed would make him feel better but I don’t remember much of it. Luckily, it seemed to work though. Because after I was finished with my little re-assuring spiel, I asked if he had any questions and he said no. So I repeated a small speech that I had been telling all my siblings and friends recently – about how he could always come to me if he wanted to talk or cry or had a question or just wanted to hang out. I felt it was important to stress this because I meant it (still do) and I know how parents often say things like that but kids never feel like they can come to them either way. Sometimes it’s just because they don’t believe it and sometimes it’s because they know their parents don’t really mean it; only one time it has to happen where a kid goes to their parent and they don’t listen or react in a positive way even though their parent promised not to get angry.  
Only once. And I thought (and think) about it a lot. Also I read somewhere that you should be the person you needed as a kid and I took it to heart. I try to live by that and I can only hope that I’m doing a good job.  
Another short silence went by before I questioned, “Do you want to play cards or something?” trying to lighten the mood a bit. “Or just sit here some more?” No fucking way was I going to make him feel like he had to get up if he didn’t want to, if I could help it.  
He moved to get up and I was thankful he’d stopped crying and actually looked a bit happier. He wiped his cheeks and said, “Let’s play cards,” as he sat across from me.  
I grabbed the cards I knew were stashed in the drawer right next to me, unopened. I tore into my pristine pack of licensed Star Wars playing cards and asked, “Do you wanna listen to some music?”  
“Sure,” he shrugged but it didn’t sound begrudging so I woke up my computer.  
I handed him the now opened stack of cards, asking, “Fall Out Boy?” To which I received a shrug as he shuffled the deck. Personally, I thought it was quite a good suggestion for the mood; a bit edgy and meaningful while still being upbeat and happy. Also, I listened to FOB a lot when I was upset (again, still do) and it had minimal cussing which I was not going to expose my kid brother to.  
We were mid-way through Go Fish when My Songs Know What You did In the Dark came on and I sang every word with a passion and slammed my hand on the floor. I saw him give a small smile – fond, _happy __, and it made me feel better. “I have a lot of feelings,” I explained simply._

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so like I know a lot of ppl don’t read the notes especially when they’re at the bottom of a story so thanks I suppose. And like I hope you or a friend isn’t going through a situation where your/their parents are having trouble but if you want you can always come talk to me (my name’s Rani btw [or Parker, y'know whatever]) or you can just vent to me about whatever, really I don’t mind, plz bother me. I might not be much help but I’m p good at listening. Also if u have any questions abt me or the story, feel free to ask. And if u see any mistakes or a part where stuff doesn’t flow or u can’t understand plz tell me bc I dislike errors but I’m too lazy to go back and read it 20 times to find all the stuff (also I’d prob start to hate it and regret posting it). Also I used "girl" and she/her pronouns bc that's how I identified at the time. I guess that’s p much all so um have a great day/evening/night and maybe try to be the person u need/needed and remember that even if it doesn’t feel like it, every little thing matters. You. Matter. Live life, try not to have any regrets and make someone happy if u can. I’ll prob see u in another story, so later m8  
> P.S. if u think that I’ll dismiss ur problems or feelings as invalid, ur wrong bc u matter and u don’t need anyone to justify it if ur upset abt smth


End file.
